Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #breastcancer

The Little White Pill

January 19, 2025 / / 0 Comments

I’m getting to know the new Arthur Child Cancer Care Centre at Foothills Hospital. It is a beautiful, new $50 million dollar complex that caters to the research, treatment and support of those diagnosed with cancer of any kind. I am learning that once diagnosed with cancer, one begins a battle that is life-long.

I got lucky, if there is such a thing with cancer. We caught it in its early stages. I chose a double mastectomy to ensure it would not come back. I took genetic testing to see if I had other possible cancers in my DNA. I took the oncotype test to determine if traditional chemo or radiation would help prolong my life. It wouldn’t so I didn’t have to go through that. All I needed was to swallow a little white pill for five years to ensure that my body wouldn’t make any more cancer-causing estrogen. But when I couldn’t get out of bed because of vertigo, and my body contorted into painful muscle tightening shapes and leaving the house was a risk unless I carried a plastic bag with me…I said stop.

Cancer is the unknown. It’s life threatening and when one has been given a diagnosis, it is difficult to think clearly. It is difficult to think at all. Treatment would be straight forward to blindly follow the advice of the experts. If only I wasn’t inquisitive. No one can seem to fully answer why five years. Even the experts have varying opinions. Some say five, some say ten, some say forever if it doesn’t seem to bother you. What happens after the five years? That is a varied answer too. “We can’t say”. What about testing in between now and then? “That’s different with every patient.” And what I learned and experienced about the side effects, is that they include hot flashes, headaches, bone loss, muscle pain and sometimes ovarian cancer! How is this part of a stay healthy regime? It baffles me.

It was at my recent physical that I shared I had quit my medication and was finally starting to feel normal. Two days later, the oncologist called and asked me to come in. “We are wanting you to try a different drug”, the young doctor smiled. Why? I asked. “Because we believe this is your best chance to live another ten years.”

Fear is the reason this pill becomes necessary. I don’t want to die. I have a lot to do before I travel off to the next realm. As I sat listening to her talk of the new plan and this pill and how we will be more vigilant with any side effects, fear had me agree to try again. I don’t know what this pill will do. It isn’t a promise I will be safe from cancer returning. It is more of a weak insurance policy. Yet, it is the only answer the experts have for me.

As I left the Cancer Centre with my new prescription in hand, I walked through the halls where other patients were travelling to their appointments. I am one of thousands battling cancer. Some of us are just becoming aware of the battle to be. Some of us are amid the battle. Some, like me, are battling to ensure it does not return. Wherever one is in the battle, it is a battle. It is so much like grief. It includes fear, sadness, hope and determination. It is exhausting. And like grief, it includes faith. Faith that I have the strength needed to travel the path I have been given.

Thanksgiving Gratitude

October 8, 2023 /

It was a year ago that my husband and sister sat beside me as I waited to be rolled into the operating room for a double mastectomy. I had chosen to ‘go radical’ because of my family history. I did not want the same fate as many of my aunts had. I am used to poor health, having been imposed with various autoimmune disorders which have been life changing, but this diagnosis was life threatening. Fear was a new emotion.

 Recovering, I was informed that I would experience these new emotions including grief. I might have a sense of self-loss; I would need to explore options for a new normal with choices such as reconstructive surgery or prosthetics. I would mourn over who I was that I am no longer. So, I waited for these feelings to present themselves with the idea that I would treat them like I treat grief. Strangely, grief did not arrive.

I believe that when one knows, one knows. When there is an absolute truth that you hold in your soul, of an answer to a situation, problem or option, things are not as muddled.  They are clear.  And that clarity brings less grief because you are firm in what you believe.  I had not thought about having any further surgery.  Take them off and be done. I have never considered my feminism to be connected to my boobs! I found freedom in not having to ever worry again that my breast cancer would return. I found no reason to grieve but rather a relief that I had taken charge of my health and did what I felt best for me to ensure a longer life.

And after all that, the oncologist advises a 5-year medication to ensure it doesn’t come back. How could it?   Apparently, it can. Not in the missing body parts of course, but other favorite hiding spots for this type of cancer are ribs, lungs, liver, brain, or bone. We must be careful, I am told. And with that, worry moved in.

Worry is grief’s cousin. It plays with your emotions and plants a garden of possibilities of what might go wrong that will bring along grief. It is hard to control and even when you put into place all things to remove worry, it finds the slightest opening in your thoughts to squeeze in and take center stage.  Sometimes, it is all consuming, like when I am awakened with contorting muscle cramps in my legs, or a new lump found along my scars.  Other times it is forgotten, like when I am spending time with my daughter or immersed in a Hallmark Movie. Big or small, worry is there, in the corner of my mind, waiting to come forward.

This last year has been a battle of mind over matters which has me practicing the small things I have control over, like meditation and gratitude. I have learned to treat worry like I treat grief. Sit with it when it appears and reassure it, we are going to be ok. Today, Thanksgiving arrives, marking the anniversary of my journey with cancer.

Last year I missed out on the festivities, having to stay home to recover. This year I am joining my family to delight in the tastes of the holiday. In our house at Thanksgiving, it is tradition to say what we are most grateful for over the past year. I am grateful for many things. But without a doubt, for me this year, I am most grateful that I have survived breast cancer.

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